Carol of the Birds
by Xandra Fox
Summary: Rupin is bitter the Bazaar is closing for the holidays and he won't make any money for an entire week. But when he is paid a chilling visit by the demon living under his house, he's whisked on a fantastical spiritual journey through past, present and future that just might transform his greedy heart for good. Or not. Skyloftian retelling of Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol."
1. Stave I

**Genres: **Spiritual/Fantasy/Humor/Family

**A/N:** Per the summary, this is an LOZ adaptation of_ A Christmas Carol, _with a Skyloftian twist. Or as I so affectionately like to think of it, "Rupin has a Scroogism." To those of you who are familiar with my previous work, yes, this is sort of like a Christmas season special for "The Customer is (Not) Always Right," and there are major tie-ins to that story. If you haven't been following my main story, no biggie. I've taken measures to make this accessible to newcomers, so you should hopefully not have a problem getting into it.

As passionate as I am about Christmas, I have serious doubts that people in Skyloft celebrate Christmas. And like I said, this is a full-blown Skyward Sword adaptation soooo I decided to base this story around the hypothetical holiday when children meet their loftwings, dubbed "Fledging." I tried. Just go with it, okay? Fledging Ceremony. Wing Ceremony. They totally go together.

*Ahem* Merry Christmas everybody! Have a safe and happy December.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

_Carol of the Birds_

**Stave I: The Demon of Skyloft**

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

Fledging Day. Once every year, the children of Hylia would flock to Skyloft from north, south, east, and west to partake in the ceremony where they would unite with their destined loftwing partners and forge a bond that would last a lifetime. Since the very first islands were thrust into the sky, hylians had paired with the giant birds of the air. The loftwings were revered as the holiest of the Goddess's blessings, bestowed upon each and every person at their coming of age as a sign of her divine protection.

Growing up, children were told that before they were even born, the Goddess had handpicked a guardian bird just for them. They spent the first decade of their lives on the ground, their eyes alight with wonder and anxious longing as they watched their parents and older peers glide overhead. They restlessly awaited the day when they would receive their own feathered companions, a flurry of questions running through their young and impressionable minds. What color would their bird be when it finally appeared before them? What would it feel like to fly on their own for the first time? Scary, or exhilarating? Would their bird come to them at all? It was enough to set off a whirlwind of blessed butterflies in one's stomach.

Having a bird and mastering how to ride it was what separated children from adults, and so it was said that the coming of one's loftwing signified the beginning of the passage into adulthood. Needless to say, it was a huge deal. So on that fateful day that came once a year, when the sun reached the highest point in the sky, all the families of Skyloft gathered at the feet of the Goddess statue to watch as children ten years of age awaited the arrival of their new birds. The connection shared between loftwing and rider was sacred and intimate, tracing back to ancient times. Some said the first touch was what sealed the bond between a loftwing and its chosen partner, and some said it was the first flight. No one knew for sure. But up until that moment, hylian children were just one half of a pair, to be made whole by their loftwings; two hearts and two minds joined as one to soar together in the sky.

The children's new loftwings felt like new additions to the family, and were a cause for celebration among all the citizens of Skyloft. At some point, people began exchanging gifts in reminder of the Goddess's divine gift to humanity, as a symbol of their gratitude to her and their gratitude towards each other. It seemed at this time of year, all bitter feelings and feuds fell away to be replaced by appreciation and forgiveness. The season of Fledging was truly a season of unconditional love and gratitude.

This year on the eve of Fledging Day, the Bazaar teemed with anticipation of tomorrow. The shops hadn't even closed yet, but already volunteers were flitting about the place, laughing joyously and putting up decorations. They talked amongst themselves in raised voices as they strung up rainbow wreaths of loftwing feathers and created eye-popping arrangements of every variety of pumpkin and winter squash imaginable, hardly able to repress their excitement. Wonderful, mouthwatering aromas of pumpkin bread and pumpkin pie emanated from the café as the cooks sweated in the kitchen, busily preparing heaps of food for the feast that would take place the following day. Nearly all the townspeople, from the wee Kukiel to the shriveled old people watcher Croo, were positively giggly. For tomorrow, the marketplace would close for the holidays and transform into a venue for week-long celebration and merriment.

But even amidst all the cheer and good spirits, one man was not happy.

"Only six and a half more hours until FLEDGING!_ ARE YOU EXCITED, RUPIN?!"_

Rupin glanced up from his clipboard tiredly, meeting Luv's eager gaze with reluctance. She leaned forward and grinned at him from her perch behind the Potion Shop counter, a playful gleam in her eye.

"Excited as I'll ever be," he replied with a taut smile.

"_Really?_" Luv said, tilting her head in mock-skepticism. "Because you don't look very excited!"

Rupin just sighed. Normally, he would put forth a little more effort to match her energy, to keep her entertained and out of his hair. But he was hanging on by a thread today. She would have to settle for contained politeness.

Luv snorted and put her hands on her hips, grumbling with a very obvious eyeroll, "I swear, sometimes I wonder if you're not a crotchety old man in a young person's body. Don't you get excited over _anything_ other the sight of a customer?"

_Maybe it's because you always manage to kill whatever good mood I'm in with your asinine, unsolicited comments. _"I'm excited on the inside, I assure you," Rupin lied through his teeth. He forced an even wider grin to back up the statement. "I'm just not feeling well today is all."

"Oh, come _on_, Rupin. I'm three months pregnant and puking up my guts up every other morning, and I have more pep than you do! What do you have to say that, huh?

Rupin gagged on the inside. _Too much information, woman! _"Perhaps you should take it as a compliment. A testament to your enduring youthfulness," he said smoothly, not a moment too late. "I simply can't compete."

Luv let loose a good-natured bark of laughter, waving off the flattery. "Oh, Rupin honey! You're too much! I guess now that I'm about to have a kid of my own, I'm just extra special excited for all those other parents watching their kids meet their loftwings. They must be so proud!"

Rupin gave an absent nod before returning to his clipboard to finish taking inventory. To his relief, Luv didn't chide him any longer. Finally. That got her off his back. She would never take a hint that he didn't want to talk, but she'd take a compliment. At least he had several weeks of maternity leave to look forward to.

Soon, the clock edged closer to six and the Bazaar began to empty out. Luv left her rather diminutive husband Bertie to tear down the Potion Shop in her stead, and the bored girl from the Item Check checked out early. Sparrot the fortuneteller melted into the evening before anyone even noticed he was gone, leaving a vacant tent behind. Some workers had already begun to tear it down in his absence, getting ready to set up a stage in its place. Rupin happily farewelled shoppers as they passed by his stall on their way out of the Bazaar (in the vain hopes they'd remember his friendly face and come back a week from now). Once things slowed down and majority of them were gone, he retreated to his storeroom to count his rupees for the last time in a long time.

He emptied his apronfull of rupees onto his work table and began sorting the gleaming rainbow of gems by color. He didn't have to finish totaling them to know it had been yet another day of lackluster sales. The amount of effort he put into his work never seem to yield proportionate results. With how so very exhausted he felt at the end of the day, he should have had a bigger profit to show for it. Right? He heaved a sigh. Never the case.

And now Fledging was upon him. How would he ever recover from such a set back? If one day was set aside for a holiday, he wasn't complaining. Even he longed for the occasional day off. But an entire week? What was the sense in that? He had bills to keep up with, debts to repay, funds to save up. Skyloftians were always looking for excuses to throw parties and get out of work. What foolishness.

Luv was sorely mistaken about one thing. It was never really the sight of his customers that delighted him, but the prospect of them pulling out their wallets. Only then would he feel a true jolt of excitement. Until the wallet appeared, the customer was just another annoyance. Even the nice ones were annoying. More often than not, they were bored and were just coming by to make idle chitchat. It was draining. _'How long have you been running this store?' _Long enough to become cynical_. 'About seven years! Ahahaha.' 'Hello, Mr. Gear Peddler, how are you today?' _Terrible now that you're here_. 'I'm doing splendid! And you?' _

Not that he cared.

Rupin rose from his desk with a tired moan, rubbing his eyes. He gathered up his meager sum of rupees and moved to store them in his safe. Most days, only one out of ten people who visited his shop actually made a purchase. Fickle customers. They never saw the true depths of the disappointment and resentment that weighed him down every time they browsed, but decided not to buy. They never knew what it cost him to dance around their volatile moods, to meet their crass attitudes and sometimes even raging tempers with a calm smile and a sympathetic front.

Through it all, his smile never left his face. He had the prominent, ruddy cheeks and premature lines etched into his smooth skin to prove it. But if they had looked back, they would have seen the venomous glances he threw at their retreating forms. If they had listened a little harder, they would have heard the quiet insults whispered under his breath. It never showed, but the hate built up inside him every day. Some days he felt so angry he could explode, but he never did. Some days he felt so cold and apathetic that there wasn't a shred of humanity left within him, but it never showed when there were prying eyes around to see. He locked his hatred within his heart, and wore a grinning mask on his face. The customers were always right, even when they were wrong.

After packing away the rest of his gear, Rupin trudged back out to the shop and locked up the storage room with a bitter sense of finality. People had already moved into his stall to hang silver and blue streamers before he'd even left for the day, much to his irritation. A barely audible growl made its way out of his throat. He kept his head down and avoided their eyes as he shoved past to leave, hands in his pockets. In his efforts to block everybody out, he almost passed right by Gondo, who was waiting for him on the other side of the counter. The repairman waved when their gazes crossed, a warm smile creasing his face.**  
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"Hey, little buddy! You look beat," he said. "You should come to the Lumpy Pumpkin with me and Sparrot tonight! It is a holiday, after all."

And here he had nearly forgotten.

"No thanks," Rupin said flatly, unable to muster energy for a more chipper reply. "I have important work to attend to tonight."

"Work? Really?" Gondo said with a dubious frown, looking a little put off. But he didn't push it. "That's too bad. I'll be around a while longer, so let me know if you change your mind."

Rupin just gave half a shrug. Like that would happen. As Gondo went back to the Scrap Shop, Rupin cut straight across the Bazaar, making to leave, though this proved difficult as there was an abnormally high number of bodies to weave around. He stared straight ahead and ignored them, retreating within himself. He successfully reached the other side without interruption and started to walk out the main door, but then lingered by the cafe. He might as well eat here tonight. Anything to put off seeing _her_ a while longer.

Selection at the cafe was minimal; all efforts in the kitchen were concentrated on preparing food for tomorrow. All that was left were some old pastries and stale bread that would be pitched overnight if they weren't sold today. As far as the cooks were concerned, today was already over. Even the coffee pot on the stove sat neglected, probably brewed hours ago. At least some of the prices had gone down.

After Rupin stood at the counter a while, the aloof and standoffish Piper eventually came over to fetch him a slice of pumpkin cake from the case. He ordered a cup of burnt coffee to wash it down and sat down at a secluded table by the wall, removing himself from the crowd. He brushed some crumbs off the table's surface with his sleeve. Vaguely, he wondered if the rest of the population was blind to filth.

Thick, spicy pumpkin cake dusted with powdered sugar. It would have been good if it wasn't so dry and crumbly. And if he hadn't been so sick of pumpkin. He forced another bite of cake down his throat, looking out on the rest of the Bazaar with disdain. Fledging was the same old, same old every single year. Kids stand in front of Goddess statue. For hours. Their scrawny, juvenile loftwings fly in to meet them one by one. There's lots of staring involved. Lots of waiting around. Lots of buildup for absolutely nothing. Some years, a kid's loftwing wouldn't show up until dusk, so of course it could take _forever_ and people would give you weird looks if you tried to bail out before the end of the ceremony. Didn't it ever get old to them? The holiday seemed even less and less of a novelty to Rupin as he grew older and the years piled up. And yet everyone, even those who had aged far beyond his years, always acted like it was sensational.

"Ooooh! What's that? Is it cake? Pumpkin cake?"

There was a cough and a sniffle. Rupin jumped up to see Piper's kid coming upon him quickly, his hair a tangled rodent's nest. Before Rupin could react, the little boy stuck a filthy, dirt-encrusted finger forward and touched his cake.**  
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"What are you doing?!" Rupin snapped, for a moment only able to gape in shock. He pulled his cake away from the boy. "H-how rude! Go away! Get!"

"Sorry..." the kid muttered an indignant apology, like he wasn't really sorry at all. Like _Rupin_ was the one at fault for overreacting. He turned tail and scurried off.

"_Ugh!_" Rupin gagged, grimacing down at his cake. He felt violated, like a giant fly had landed on his food. That cake was a part of him, or about to become apart of him. And now it was tainted._ Why did kids feel the need to touch everything they laid their greedy little eyes on?! _Who knew where that finger had been.

Quite frankly, Rupin didn't want to know. The second no one was looking, he flung his barely-eaten pumpkin cake into a nearby garbage can. He snatched up what remained of his rapidly cooling coffee and left.

On his way out of the Bazaar, Rupin approached a large, portly man who was slumped against the inside of the tent, head down, a can sitting pathetically in front of him. The man was unshaven and wore a scuzzy, ill-fitting shirt that could never hope to cover his midriff if he _wasn't_ a hundred pounds overweight, a sullen expression tugging down his coarse features. Rupin did not know nor care to learn his name, but simply regarded him as "The Village Idiot." Within the confines of his mind, anyway. Rupin had never been one to insult others directly.

The Village Idiot raised his head of matted, unwashed hair as Rupin walked by. Rupin kept his gaze focused straight ahead. _Like that will do any good, _he thought. What would he use those rupees for, to pay for his pumpkin juice for one night? For all he knew, the guy wasn't even homeless. Yes, he was likely a fraudulent homeless. Real homeless people never stayed that fat.

Rupin exited the Bazaar without a passing glance. If he had looked back, he would have seen the Village Idiot fishing his disposed-of cake out of the garbage.

-:-:-:-:-

Outside, the sun had already descended past the cloud sea, but its fading light still touched the skies, tinging the edges of the horizon a soft pink. A few lone loftwings glided in the distance, going to find comfortable roosting places for the night. As Rupin made his way down the hill, the lazy _pip pip pip_ of the propellers of Beedle's Airshop drew his attention skyward. The Air Shop hovered several stories above the town, bobbing up and down in a slow, cyclical rhythm. Beedle was up there, literally peddling away. He would be closing up shop tomorrow too, but since he didn't require the use of the Bazaar, he would immediately reopen for business the following day. Rupin fumed with jealousy.

_Beedle's Airshop. More like Beedle's Armpit, _he thought to himself. But what with all the wild, drunken dancing and partying that would be going on tomorrow, the Bazaar was going to smell like an armpit before long too. How gross.

Yes, he would be there tomorrow, enduring the stench. Not to party with the rest, but to keep watch over his stall and make sure no stupid kids soiled it like last year. It turned out that wet spot in the corner wasn't water.

It was twilight by the time Rupin arrived at his home on the southern side of the island. Now, he could finally shed his shopkeeper persona and put the friendly facade away for another day. He went inside to find a crackling fire in the fireplace and his mother fussing with her antiques per the usual, rearranging her shelf of hideous figurines for at least the tenth time that week. Rupin ignored her and started to walk to his side of the room. He was hoping she wouldn't look up when he walked in, but she did.

"Rupin! You're home!" Goselle trilled, spinning to greet him. "How was your day?"

"Good," he grunted, staying his course.

"Good?" she echoed after him dryly. "In other words, you don't want to talk about it."

"Yep."

He didn't turn to watch her act all offended over his abruptness. Must she take everything so personally? As if he wasn't allowed to be tired at the end of the day. _People_...his customers, Luv, his socialite mother...they were like parasites. Just being in their presence seemed to sap his energy and drain him of all life.

"Rupin! Don't tell me you're planning on staying cooped up in the house when it's a holiday. Why don't you go out to the Lumpy Pumpkin tonight?"

He turned his head to look at her this time, his expression flat and emotionless. _Why_ did she care? "If you want to get rid of me, just say so, mother."

Goselle shifted, seeming reluctant to say what was on her mind next. "Actually...I was planning on going myself, and I was hoping you would come with me," she said. "I feel like we've grown apart lately, dear...perhaps a change of scenery would be good for us?"

She gave him a disarming grin, the same one he used on customers during the day. Clearly, there was an ulterior motive here. He didn't care enough to try to coax it out of her, but he could guess as to what it was. More than likely, the other housewives were touting their relationships with their sons and she was looking to show them up. Or she just wanted to prove to them that he wasn't a total loser.

"You want to go spend a fortune at the tavern when we can just pop open a bottle of pumpkin juice and enjoy each others company right here?" Rupin answered. "Seems like an awful waste of money, don't you think?"

Goselle glowered at him. "Humph! Fine. Be that way," she sniffed, haughty. She whipped out one of her fans.

Rupin averted his eyes and kept his sarcastic responses to himself, choosing not to continue. So many of their short lived conversations ended this way. Her getting testy, him giving up and letting her have the last word. It seemed they were always waging a battle just under the surface, and so long as he didn't try to argue with her and drag it out in the open, they could co-exist. The more he protested against her, the more viciously she fought back. Always a losing battle. It was best to avoid upsetting the precarious balance between them, one that was already cracked by so many years of misunderstanding.

Maybe if they didn't still live under the same roof, their relationship would have been less strained, and she wouldn't have associated his reputation so closely with hers. He let out yet another crippling sigh. He would leave the nest one day. Once he earned enough money.

Goselle slammed the door loudly on her way out of the house, making sure to let him know how she felt. Rupin took a much-awaited seat at his desk and began making preparations to open up his night market, not feeling guilty in the least. It wasn't worth a night of forced smiles and laughter. It wasn't worth the hole in his wallet. The only thing Rupin hated more than his job and his customers was being broke, because that meant he was really powerless. Besides, he needed treasure. And other people needed money to buy last minute gifts for their loved ones. He would be a fool not to take advantage of such a situation.

Yes, Rupin's treasure buying business he ran from his home at night just happened to be the saving grace of procrastinators everywhere in the days leading up to Fledging. Sometimes people even sold him thoughtless presents that were given to them on the previous years' Fledging, the irony of it all. The greatest thing about his night market was that he didn't _have_ to buy other peoples' crap. Buying treasure made things easier, sure. It saved him time and expenses in the long run and got him some extra pocket money. But they needed him more than he needed them. Any complaining and they would be sent on their way without so much as a single rupee to show for it. Now here at his desk, _he_ was the one in control. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

It wasn't long before there was a gentle knock at the front door. Rupin lifted his head at the sound. After a moment, the door creaked open and Bertie the potion brewer's husband hesitantly stepped inside. It took all Rupin's willpower not to groan right then and there. Bertie was always trying to pass off trash for treasure.

Habitually, his mind told him to muster up a smile as as Bertie limped up to his desk, a bulging burlap sack slung over his shoulder. But his facial muscles didn't seem to want to move. _No_. He was at home, in his sanctuary. _He_ was the customer now, not Bertie. Not happening.

"So you came to sell some treasure..." he started when Bertie neglected to speak up, stating the obvious. His eyes panned over the dirty bag Bertie clutched. "Last minute gift shopping, I presume?"

"Er, yes," Bertie stammered as he plopped his bag on the floor with a grunt of relief. Even with the load removed from his back, he was still bent in stature, as if he carried an invisible weight of his own. In the full light of Rupin's chandelier he looked awfully pale and pasty, dark circles rimming his baggy eyelids. Again, Rupin had to wonder if all the stress over this holiday gift-giving hoopla was really worth it. Were the boney man standing side by side with his relentlessly vigorous wife, he might have guessed Bertie was the one who was pregnant.

"I still need a present for my wife. Luv," Bertie said. "I've been waiting on her hand and foot in light of her pregnancy and I realized I forgot to buy her something! Time just got away from me, I guess, and before I knew it...well, now Fledging Day is tomorrow." He uttered a self-conscious laugh, shaking his head at himself in disapproval. "She's had her eye on a special sort of cauldron that costs a fortune, and I'm just a few rupees short of being able to afford it."

"Ah huh." _Whatever_. "So what did you bring to sell to me tonight?"

The look on Bertie's face said it was something he wasn't so sure he was going to be able to sell. Bending down carefully, he reached inside his sack and took out...a tumble weed. A stringy mess of tangles riddled with dirt clods. Rupin's eyebrows went up.

Bertie winced a little as he held up the filthy weed, like he already knew what was coming. "So...how much?"

Rupin sighed in exasperation. He pressed a hand to his temple, massaging his brow. "I'm going to tell it to you straight, Bertie. Not because I don't like you, but because you deserve to know the truth." A hint of a sneer twitched on his lips. "Here's the thing, Bertie. I use a lot of these treasures I buy at night to get my shields made. And well, in order to provide my customers with a quality product, I need to provide my blacksmith with _high_ _quality_ _ingredients_...see where I'm going with this?"

Bertie shook his head.

"If I send them garbage, then that's exactly what they send back to me. Garbage. My shields come out flimsy, they break, and my the customers aren't happy. Oh no, not happy at _all_." Rupin clicked his tongue sadly. He raised one shoulder and let it drop, as if to absolve himself of all blame.

Bertie's features sagged even more than usual. "Oh..."

"So answer me this, Bertie." Rupin placed both hands firmly on his desk and drew up to stare the man in the face, narrowing his eyes to slits. "What in Goddess's name am I going to do with a rotting tumbleweed?"

Bertie just pressed his mouth into a nervous line, saying nothing.

"You know when you're infusing a potion for somebody and they brings you dead bugs? Well, right now you're trying to hand me a dead dung beetle. It's the same thing." Rupin brought his hand to his mouth to stifle a little snicker of laughter. "Bertie. You would have to pay _me_ to take that thing off your hands."

"Oh...I see." He stared down at the carpet, looking dismayed. "I'm sorry."

"Now, if you have some Eldin ore or an amber relic in that bag, we might just have ourselves a deal." Rupin leaned sideways and propped an elbow on his desk, resting his head against his hand. He blinked at Bertie thoughtfully, awaiting his answer.

Bertie hesitated. "Ah, well—not exactly," he said. "No. I'm afraid don't have either of those."

Rupin glowered at the meek man._ Then stop wasting my time. _He would have said it out loud if he didn't have to see the man at the Bazaar every day.

"Erm...but maybe this will do?"

Bertie put away the tumbleweed and rooted around in the bottom of his bag, seeming to forgo several other worthless items. He then brought out some sort of figurine, one of a roly-poly little elf-looking man wearing a skintight green onesie and bright red undergarments. The chubby little man had a gigantic nose and long, pointy ears that jutted out beneath his green hood, a jovial, all-to-gleeful expression plastered across his gooey-eyed, rosy-cheeked face. Rupin squirmed a little on the inside at the sight of it._ Eesh. Creepy._

"It's an antique," Bertie explained in a soft voice, setting the figurine on the desk before Rupin. "Luv actually bought this for me last year, but to be honest, it always kind of gave me the creeps, so uh..." He trailed off with a small lift of his skinny shoulders.

Rupin resisted the urge to smack his face repeatedly on his desk._ What was the point of buying gifts people wouldn't even like? _He squinted down at the figurine and slid it closer with his free hand. The green man was carved of wood and must have had a decent paint job on it for its solid, vibrant colors to have lasted so long. If Bertie was to be believed. Judging by that and the amount of detail that was put into him—down to the mole beneath his lip and the compass hanging from his neck—the figurine was of fine quality, despite...well, everything else. But Rupin supposed some people were into this sort of thing. He cast an aside glance at his mother's little shelf of horrors on the other side the room. Yes. The right person might just buy this off him for up to twenty rupees and he could reap a decent profit.

"For this, I can offer you five rupees." Rupin put the figurine back in the center of his desk and turned it so the freaky thing faced away from him.

"Just five?"

Rupin just stared at Bertie dully, not moving a muscle.

"I guess I was hoping for at least ten...maybe fifteen if you were feeling generous...?" Bertie mumbled, shying away from Rupin's stern gaze. He scratched his head. "It is Fledging Eve and all..."

Rupin raised an eyebrow. "So?" he said. "Holidays make no difference to me. Five rupees. That's my first and final offer, take it or leave it."

Bertie kept his eyes on the floor, twiddling his thumbs as he struggled with indecision. Rupin smirked to himself. He knew the man well enough to know he wouldn't assert himself a second time.

"Okay," Bertie spoke up finally, meeting Rupin's narrow eyes. "I'll sell."

The transaction was quick and without a hitch. The soft spoken Bertie took his single blue rupee in exchange for his antique figurine and made a passive exit. Rupin immediately returned to his busy work upon his departure and didn't even look up as the front door clicked shut behind him. A few seconds later, he plunked his quill on the desk and got up to fetch a bottle of pumpkin juice. He would need it.

One by one, the hours ticked by, slowly but surely. Sellers came and went, hoping to snag a deal or two in exchange for their second-hand junk. Rupin obliged some and turned away others, scorning at cheap proposals with contempt. Rupin knew it was about time to go to bed once the inflow of visitors slowed to a disheartening stop. The latest seller had left over an hour ago.

Rupin yawned and stretched, getting up from his desk to begin his nightly rituals. He put out what was left of the fire—now just a few dying coals—and took down the 'OPEN' sign from the front door so he wouldn't be bothered by anyone from there on out. Once the door was bolted and all his treasures were locked away safely in their respective, color-coded cabinets, he slipped his boots off and settled into his bed, not bothering to undress. He extinguished his bedside lamp and laid his head down on his pillow. He had a long and wearisome day ahead.

-:-:-:-:-

Rupin tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable under his sheets. He was too warm with his rupee-patterned comforter on and too cold with it off. At one point, he managed to fall asleep for a little while, but then he had one of those awful dreams where he was losing his teeth. He expected it to be daylight or at least early morning when he woke up, but was surprised to see only an hour had passed since he first lied down. It felt longer than that.

He exhaled, chest collapsing. It seemed so useless to just lie there mindlessly. He lit his bedside lamp, ripped off the sheets, and dragged himself towards to the living room, uncorking a new bottle of pumpkin juice before going to relax on the new sofa nobody ever sat on. Well, nobody but him or his mother. And that was all she would allow: sitting. Back off the cushions, both feet planted flat on the floor. But since when was that ever comfortable? Seemed like an awful waste of a good couch.

He took a large swig of pumpkin juice and sprawled across the sofa. His mother would be even more horrified if she knew he had a drink on it, but it wasn't as if he ate like a savage. He would be careful. What she didn't know wouldn't kill her. The sofa's firm cushions were much more comfortable than his mattress, which had gotten too soft and cushy with usage. He would be asleep in no time.

After another half hour of sipping his drink intermittently, his eyelids drooped and he felt a peaceful sleep beginning to tug him away. He shivered a little, but he was too exhausted to get up and any sort of fire going again. Better to be too cold than too warm...

He was about to drift off when a soft tremor from below roused him. His eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at the ceiling. For a second, he thought he was imagining things, but then the vibrations grew stronger, accompanied by an ominous rumbling.

Rupin gripped the arm of the sofa as a particularly violent tremor sent him tumbling onto to the floor, and the bottle of pumpkin juice he'd been drinking along with him. There was a loud _crash_. His heart pounded in his ears. _An earthquake! _Now the entire house was shaking. He scrambled back onto the couch and held on for dear life when all of the sudden, the quaking ceased. All the lights in the house flickered off at once, leaving him in total darkness.

He slowly lifted his head, petrified. Before he could catch his breath, the fireplace suddenly exploded to life, a pillar of blue flame shooting straight up through the chimney.

"_RAAAAAAWR!" _

A horrible roar erupted from the wall of fire, shaking Rupin to his core. He pressed himself to the back of the sofa and jerked his neck sideways, shutting his eyes against the sparks that flew from the fireplace. When the blast of heat subsided, he forced his eyes open and got a look at the intruder as the smoke cleared from around him.

A tall, dark figure loomed out of the fireplace. His skin was blue as ice, like he'd been frozen for a millennium or more, and his bright yellow eyes burned like hot cinders. Corrugated horns the color of blood sprouted from his head, as long and thick as an ox's, but twice as sharp, curving elegantly into two jagged prongs. His face was broad like that of a bulldog, with long fangs like a prehistoric beast and a squashed nose that looked like it belonged on a decomposing corpse. The monster was tall and broad-shouldered, nearly twice the height of an average man, and towered far above Rupin. Despite all his grotesque attributes, he sported an exceptionally well-cared for mustache and goatee, each tapering into fine, neat points.

The monster let out another fearsome roar. He gnashed his fangs and brandished his claws, which were at least three inches long. Rupin squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again gradually, willing the monster to be gone. But he was there. Wild sapphire flames leaped from the fire place and licked at the horned figure, but didn't scorch him nor even seem to touch him. As if he was not of this world. Rupin shuddered, his squinty eyes widening with panic.

"You—you're a—"

"A demon!" the monster spoke, stealing the word right out of his mouth. Two massive shadows spread from either side of him—a pair of ginormous, bat-like wings—and beat back a strong blast of wind that made Rupin's eyes water.

"I don't believe I've properly introduced myself." The demon grinned, seeming to delight in Rupin's fear. He folded up his wings and gave a low bow. "Batreaux is my name. I come to you tonight from the depths of the underworld to deliver a very important message!"

Rupin's cheeks turned an entire shade paler. He was scared speechless. His muddled mind was telling him to run, or scream. But instead, a strange, hysterical smile crept onto his face. "...I-is it a good message?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes! I mean—NOOOOO!" the demon boomed, causing Rupin to shake even harder. He clutched a pillow to his chest like a shield and sunk further into the cushions, as if he could escape inside them. A deep growl tore from Batreaux's throat.

"This is a message of the worst kind imaginable!" he said. "My presence here tonight concerns your welfare. The welfare of your _immortal_ _soul_."

Rupin felt an uncharacteristic twinge of fear in the deepest part of him. Every one of the demon's thunderous words seemed to carry another earthquake of its own.

"Yes, Rupin, I am here for _you_. You who walk among your fellow human beings with your stingy, judgmental eyes squinted shut, seeing them only for the rupees in their wallets. You who would interpret the simplest gesture of kindness as an insult or a means to wrong you, who would withhold forgiveness even if your well being depended on it. While other hearts overflow with feelings gratitude, you haven't a drop inside you to give. It is people like you who keep me bound to this dreadful form, and in doing so risk condemning yourself to a fate worse than death!"

Rupin furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, more soberly now that he had gotten over the initial shock of a monster appearing in his house, "I'm not sure I follow..."

"For as long as you let greed and hatred corrupt your heart, you bind yourself by a tortuous thread of fate, twisted and knotted tight of your own free will," Batreaux explained. Now Rupin was completely lost. "You cannot perceive it, but the negative influence you hold over others travels further than you can hope to imagine, cascading into infinite. Like the first domino in a sequence of many, like the birth of the stars! I daresay it could rival the strength of my own malevolent aura. You wouldn't be hiding a horn under that little hat of yours, would you?"

Rupin scoffed. "Now that's just silly," he said, but he removed his hat for the demon to see so there would be no doubt.

"Is it?" Batreaux challenged him, a mischievous smile playing on his fell lips. "If a monster can become a man, then why can a man not become a monster?" He laughed evilly. "Human desire is an insatiable, fearsome thing, even to a demon! But I suppose it's also what makes your kind so intriguing." Batreaux went to inhale and suddenly choked, winding up with a mouthful of chimney ashes and dust particles. He coughed violently, taking several seconds to regain his composure. "Pardon me. Now as I was saying, your utter hatred and contempt for everything and everyone around you is a slow-working, but lethal poison! Your actions will sow dire consequences if you continue down your current pa—_Aa-ACK! _Oh my—"

His breath lodged in his throat and he broke off into another fit of uncontrollable coughing and hacking. Now Rupin _really_ drew back, disgusted. He half-expected him to hack up half a lung.

"Goodness," Batreaux wheezed and wiped his nose, his coughs finally subsiding. An odd change had come over the monster's demeanor. He now stood hunched with his claws folded politely in front of him, giving off a civilized, yet unimposing impression so unlike his previous display. It clashed with his frightening appearance. Rupin stared between the demon and the broken bottle on the floor in a dazed sort of stupor. His eyes flashed with realization.

"Oh...I think I get it now."

Batreaux perked up in a very un-monster-like fashion, clasping his hands. "You do?!" he chirped. He shifted his fingers to a more comfortable position to avoid stabbing himself with his own nails.

"Yeah," said Rupin. "This pumpkin juice," he picked up the neck of the shattered bottle and raised it in the air, giving it a shake, "...must be expired! Ugh! I knew I should have checked the date!"

He turned the bottle and peered at its label with bleary eyes, scrutinizing it. He plunked it back it down on the end table with a groan of frustration after he failed to find any indication of a date, feeling lousier than ever. For a moment, Batreaux just stood there and gawked at him in amazement, going slack in the jaw.

"You," he faltered, taken aback. He lifted a clawed finger and pointed it at Rupin. "You think you are hallucinating me?!"

Rupin looked straight at the demon, blank-faced. "Mmhmm."

Batreaux sighed, hanging his head in defeat. "Ohh, just my luck," he bemoaned, more to himself than Rupin. "The one time I _want_ a human to be scared of me, and you're not scared!" He coughed again, covering his mouth. "Good heavens. How long has it been since you swept this chimney?"

"How long has it been since you trimmed your nails?" Rupin retorted. There was no humor in his tone.

Batreaux huffed, insulted. "Just yesterday, mind you! They grow right back, so trimming isn't all that effective. And don't even get me started on these things." He motioned to his set of giant, spear-like horns.

Rupin snorted. "Whatever." He flopped back down and closed his eyes, rolling toward the couch. "This conversation is over. You're not even real, so why am I still talking to you like some sort of loony? I'm going back to bed."

"Now hold on just a minute! I'm not finished with you yet!" Batreaux snarled, trying to act angry, and it was plain to see that he was trying. The demon cleared his throat self-consciously when his outburst garnered no response from Rupin and prattled on anyway, "the threads of fate are weaving a very grim picture of your life indeed, but that does not mean their paths cannot be altered..." He flashed his sharp teeth and beat his wings, reviving some of his former theatrics.

"Before the end of the night, you will be haunted!" His voice reverberated. "By three spirits!"

"Can they not?" Rupin waved a dismissive hand in the air, his voice muffled inside the couch cushions. "I have a long day at the Bazaar tomorrow and I really need to get some sleep."

"Perhaps they will be able to instill a healthy spark of fear in that hardened heart of yours!" Batreaux raised his voice, continuing as if that last comment of Rupin's hadn't existed. "It's all for your own good, dear human. _Our_ own good. For you, for me, for both our sakes! You will be grateful in the end."

Rupin sat up suddenly, twisting his body to face Batreaux. "You want to know what I would be really grateful for? If you would _get_ _out_ _of_ _my_ _house_."

He didn't yell, but the sheer force of Rupin's words was enough to send a nervous pang through Batreaux's chest. Rupin put on his best death glare, his pupils like two pinpoints of acid that bored into the very fibers of Batreaux's malignant being. The demon recoiled in fright. He'd been outmatched.

"A-as you wish," he stuttered, and complied. He stepped out of the fireplace with some difficulty, fitting one wing out at a time, and rose to his full height. He hit his head and immediately had to bend down to keep his horns from scraping the ceiling. "If you take one thing away from this visitation, just know that everything I've told you tonight was the truth and nothing but. If you want to avoid a terrible fate, I implore you to amend your greedy ways as soon as possible! Heed my warning, human!"

With an aggravated growl, Rupin jumped up and walked around the back of the couch. He'd had enough of this.

Batreaux threw is arms up in surrender. "I'll just be on my way then. Don't mind me," he called after the retreating Rupin, not appreciating the snub. Shaking the soot off his clothes as he went, he glided across the room on silent, hidden feet and made his way towards the front door, his dark robes trailing on the floor. "Just trying to save your soul from eternal strife is all...Oh my."

The demon cringed down at the trail of black he'd left across the rather ornate and expensive looking carpet. "I...I'm very sorry about that. Truly, I am," he said in all sincerity, looking guilty. "Wh-what are you doing with that vase? Isn't that one of your mother's—AAAHH!"

Batreaux ducked, narrowly dodging the antique vase Rupin chucked straight at his head. The vase flew over him and smashed into the wall. Rupin leaped over the couch, on the war path.

"_Out,_" he spat, glaring daggers. He raised a second vase over his head threateningly.

"Okay, okay! I'm leaving!" Batreaux shrilled, throwing both hands up in defense. "Just _please_ stop throwing things!"

The demon cowered against the wall with his yellow eyes scrunched tight and sidled around the outside of the room, stepping over broken china to get to the door. He fumbled with the knob and let himself out just in time as another flying vase shattered against the inside of the door.**  
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**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

**A/N: **Rupin's so-called "negative influence" probably makes more sense if you've read "The Customer Is (Not) Always Right," where he's pretty much the cause of everyone's issues Link has to fix...or maybe the weird crap I write only makes sense to me. Who knows. Questions/comments/criticism always welcome and appreciated. Be back soon enough with the first spirit.


	2. Stave II

**A/N****:** Happy New Year! I thought I'd be able to ride the awesome writing streak I had going through December, but unfortunately it kind of fizzled out and writer's block set in. I'm not tired of my stories, I just, ugh. Can't write. x_x I'm thinking I'll postpone the rest of this fic until next season because I don't want to leave The Customer Is (Not) Always Right hanging for too long. Think of it this way: more side stories to look forward to later on. ;D

This chapter has a lot of back story/characterization relevant to Not Always Right, though I wouldn't call it one of the more humor-filled chapters. Those seem to alternate, for whatever reason. Yay, mood whiplash!

** .-.-.-.-.-.-.**

_Carol of the Birds_

**Stave II: The Spirit of the Past**

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

There was knock at the door.

"Hello?!" came an urgent male voice. Rupin froze. Who could possibly be knocking at this hour?

And then it hit him. It was the night patrol, of course. He was way too jumpy, but then again the night patrol didn't usually come knocking for a good reason. Wincing, Rupin hesitantly went to answer the door.

Sure enough, a young man in a yellow knight's uniform stood on the doorstep. A shock of of spiky brown hair stuck up from under his floppy cap.

"Hello there, sir," the knight said, arms folded across his chest. "I'm investigating a complaint from a neighbor. Said they heard shouting and the sound of breaking glass coming from your home." He leaned forward and surveyed the room, pointy eyebrows pinched in suspicion. "Everything all right in here?"

"Ah, Yes!" Rupin assured him right away. He leaped backwards to let him in. The knight stepped through the door, frowning at the chaos. "You see, there was...a bat. In here. It flew in through the chimney, but now it's gone! Ahahaha. I managed to chase it out through the door."**  
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"By throwing vases at it?"

"Not one of my better ideas," Rupin muttered, turning his eyes down. Realization crept over him as he took in the mess he'd made in its entirety, his stomach twisting in knots._ Oh no. What have I done?!_

The knight let out a tired breath. "Well, I'm glad you weren't hurt." He turned to look at Rupin. "But in the future, you should call upon one of us knights that are on duty if you need assistance getting rid of a monster. Just stick your head out the door and holler if you need us."**  
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"Mm hmm..."

"I'd best be getting back to my route, then. Stay safe." The knight started to go, then added, "Happy Fledging" before heading out the door. He just had to say it.

"You too."

Only once the knight had left did Rupin let the full force of his situation crash over him. He had to have this place cleaned up by tomorrow morning _or_ _else!_ He grabbed a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the shards of glass and splintered china scattered across the floor. Removing the soot from the carpet took longer. His rag quickly turned black and he had to fetch another one.

When he was on his third rag, he heard an odd scratching coming from the other end of the house. At first, he thought it might have been the wind rattling the house, but the scratching was too regular, too insistent. Something was making that noise. Something _living_.

He stopped to listen, using his acute Hylian ears to pinpoint the source of the noise. With a sick feeling, he realized it was coming from within his wardrobe. _A rat. It was a rat, wasn't it?_ _Great._ First bats, now rats. How did it even get in there? The thought of opening the closet door and watching the vermin scamper across his carpet repulsed him, but the thought of leaving it there while he slept disturbed him even more. He had to get rid of it.

He armed himself with a dust pan and fumbled across the room blindly, closing in on the wardrobe. Once he got nearer, he thought he saw a strange glow around the edges of the doors. Thin rays of white light streamed from the cracks and illuminated the dust in the air. A little unnerved, Rupin approached the wardrobe with caution. He raised the dustpan in the air, preparing to strike.

He dashed forward and flung both doors open. A brilliant light instantly flooded the room; it radiated from his mirror on the inside of the closet door, which had become a pulsating rectangle of white light. Rupin threw his arm up to cover his eyes and stumbled backwards, blinded.

As his eyes adjusted and the light mostly dissipated, the brightness formed around a small figure: a little girl, no older than four or five, enveloped in white. It took him a moment to realize the girl was _inside _the mirror. Slowly, she reached a hand up toward his own startled reflection.

"Boo!"

Rupin shot straight up when something touched his _real_ arm. The dust pan clattered to the floor. He whipped around and gasped when he beheld the girl right there in the room beside him. She giggled, clasping her hands over her mouth.

"Wow, Wupin! That was such a loud scream!"

The round-cheeked little girl resembled a finely crafted doll, with her tiny button nose and black eyes that glistened like dewdrops. She donned a pure white leotard and tutu sewn completely of fine, fluffy feathers, and on her feet, she wore peach ballet slippers, their satin ribbons crisscrossing up her stubby little legs. Her dark hair, adorned with a single white plume, was pulled back into a poofy ponytail that stuck straight up like a loftwing's crest. Most mystifying of all was the strange, otherworldly glow that surrounded the the child; she seemed to radiate light from her very being. One thing was for certain: this was no ordinary little girl who had burst out of his wardrobe. Rupin's eyes flashed with understanding.

"You..." he blinked some of her light out of his vision. "Are you one of the spirits Batreaux said would haunt me tonight?"

"That's right!" The little girl pinched the edges of her feathery skirt and did a curtsy. She sounded like any other little girl, but there was a reverberant quality about her voice. An echo. "I'm the Spirit of Fledging Past, Princess Cucco!"

Rupin just stared at her in complete and utter disbelief. "He sent a little girl in a tutu?" he said. His nose wrinkled slightly. "Are you kidding me?"

"Heehee, nope!" The corners of her thin lips curled up in an impish little smile. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's GO then!"

Without warning, Princess Cucco snatched his hand in hers and hoisted his arm over her shoulder like he was a sack flour. Rupin pitched forward as she pulled him across the house with surprising strength. The door flew open, seemingly of its own accord.

"Whoa! Hold on just a minute!" Rupin said, yanking his arm free from the girl's unnaturally strong grip. "Just where are we going this time of night?!"

She turned her head and blinked up at him, as if he should have known the answer. "The past."

Rupin furrowed his brow in bemusement.

"Come on!" The girl did a happy little hop and zoomed outside. She ran through the underpass and around the house, arms spread like a bird. She disappeared from sight.

"Hey! Get back here."

Silence. Rupin hesitated to follow, but after a few long seconds, he gave in and went after her, grumbling. Spirit or not, it just felt plain wrong to let a little girl go prancing off into the dark, dangerous, remlit-ridden streets all by her lonesome. Even Rupin couldn't bring himself to let that fly.

It was hard to believe there were monsters on the prowl this night. The night was so quiet and still, as if the whole world was holding its breath. Candles were lit in cottage windows, but not a soul strolled in the streets. No rescue knights passed overhead on swift wings. Only the stars gazed down on Skyloft, white pinpricks flickering dimly against the deep midnight sky.

"Hey. Cucco! Whatever your name is," Rupin broke the silence. He walked briskly around the house, calling ahead, "You shouldn't go running outside at night! There are rabid remlits out here, and jelly monsters and...and _bats_."

White light illuminated his face when he rounded the corner of the house and caught up with her. Rupin's jaw dropped when he found the girl floating in mid-air, waiting for him. Princess Cucco shone even brighter in the darkness, not like the warm glow of a candle, but with a cold and distant light, like the halo that encircled every star in the sky. Ethereal. Untouchable. Suddenly, all of Rupin's preoccupations seemed to melt away. Somehow in that moment, he just knew; she was threatened by nothing.

She waved to him excitedly for him to follow her. "Come on! We're almost there!" She skipped in the opposite direction, launching several feet off the ground. Each time her slippers hit the pavement, she bounced a little higher than before and floated gently back down, landing too lightly. As if she walked on the moon and gravity had trouble pulling her back to Earth. Rupin watched her, entranced.

"We're here!" Cucco cheered, coming to rest on wooden planks. From the looks of it, she'd led him to the private pier out back his house. The little girl sprinted forth and took another grand leap, teetering dangerously on the very edge of the platform.

"H-hey!" Rupin burst out, vaulting to her side and throwing out his arms to catch her. "Are you nuts?!"

But just when he thought she'd fall forward, the girl sprang back and did a slow flip in mid-air before drifting down to solid ground again.

"Nuh uh! I'm _Princess_ _Cucco!_" She stamped her tiny foot on the boardwalk. "I already told you that!"

Rupin sighed in resignation and smacked a hand to his forehead, giving up before he'd even really tried. Balancing on her toes, Cucco hovered near the end of the platform again. She folded her arms behind her back and tilted her head, looking at Rupin sideways. There was a mischievous gleam in the little girl's eye that eerily reminded him of the way a daytime remlit stared at a mouse.

"Well?" she said expectantly, rocking between her heels and toes. Her shiny eyes flitted to the cloud sea and back up again. "Go ahead."

Rupin frowned. "Go ahead and what? _Jump?_" He peeked over the edge of the pier, grabbing his hat when the wind that blew ceaselessly over Skyloft almost swept it away. "Are you crazy?"

"NO! I'm—"

"Not what I meant!" Rupin snapped, still holding onto his hat. "I can't fly in the middle of the night, no one but the rescue knights can! And my loftwing's not even anywhere near Skyloft right now. I can't sense her out there at all."

Cucco just giggled. "Silly! You don't need a loftwing." She grinned. "You have me!"

Cucco hopped up to Rupin's side and shoved him face-first off the edge of the pier with astonishing force. His eyes flew wide as he stumbled into the open air and plummeted face first into the darkness, the entirety of Skyloft rushing past him in a matter of seconds.

He twisted and re-oriented himself in the air, whipping his head from side to side. But there wasn't a rescue knight in sight. There was nothing between him and the sea of clouds below, shimmering with the moon's light. He screamed out for his loftwing in desperation, but she wouldn't come to his aid. She was somewhere far, far away from here. Now, Skyloft had been reduced to a smudge in the darkness.

He spread his limbs to slow his descent, trying to resist gravity as much as possible, but he knew it was useless. He was only postponing his death. He forced his watering eyes to stay open despite the wind that was battering his face, not wanting the black behind his eyelids to be the last thing he saw.

That was when he saw her; a wondrous light in the dark. Princess Cucco was hurtling toward him in a straight dive. She began to change before his very eyes. Black feathers sprouted from her arms and fanned out into wings. Her short legs thinned and lengthened.

Before he knew it, it was no longer a little girl diving or him, but a loftwing, dark as midnight. Only her white underbelly stood out against the night sky. _This_ _is_ _a_ _dream_, he realized. In a few seconds, he would hit the cloud barrier and jar awake to find himself in his own bed. Just like in every other falling nightmare he'd had. He gritted his teeth.

Piercing sun flooded his vision, and the next time he blinked the cloud barrier was above him instead of below him. The sun showed half its face over the skyline, rising large and low. It poured rivers of orange and gold over the sea of white. Below him he found not his bed, but the vast blue sky. Heart pounding, he realized he was falling UP, into the sky, instead of down. He yanked his head to the side and gasped when he glimpsed the floating isles of Skyloft at an angle. A whole alternate Skyloft.

Gravity must have been catching up with him, because his momentum curtailed. For a brief moment, he was suspended, and then he began to drop toward the cloud barrier again. He'd barely began his descent when something sharp dug into his shoulder blades and he was dragged up, up, up.

He summoned the strength to look up, squinting against the sun. He found himself grasped in the talons of a small loftwing, her wings beating back his hair with each broad stroke. In the light of daybreak, Cucco's glossy feathers appeared very dark blue rather than black, the plumage on her head shooting straight up just like her ponytail had.

She bore him upwards, until they were level with Skyloft. The village, the lake, and the Bazaar all zoomed underfoot, getting closer by the second. Next thing Rupin knew, he plowed into the ground, getting a face full of dirt.**  
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-:-:-:-:-

"Are you okay, Wupin?"

Rupin responded by throwing up in the grass. Breathless and dizzy, he slowly pushed himself up off the ground to see a concerned Princess Cucco standing by his side, a human girl again. He coughed and spat out some mud.

"I'm sorry," the little girl said, pushing out her lower lip. "I'm not big enough to carry you on my back, so I had to pick you up with my feet! You're heavy."

"Feet?!" Rupin gasped in disbelief, wiping his mouth. He rounded on her. "You mean your sharp talons? Ugh, just look what you've done to me!"

Before Rupin could catch his breath and berate her further, two scruffy, snub-nosed, raven-haired children came barreling toward him at top speed, cackling loudly. The children were twins—a boy and a girl, though it was kind of hard to tell which one was the girl at first glance. Both looked like they badly needed a haircut. Rupin's jaw dropped in recognition.

"...Shrike? Maggie?!" They didn't stop coming. "—Hey!" He tried to scramble out of the way. "Watch where you're going you—brats..."

Rupin reeled in befuddlement when instead of bowling him over, the two kids chased each other straight through him, as if he were transparent. As if he wasn't even there. They ran on, giving no indication they had even heard him.**  
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"Teehee," Cucco giggled into her hand. "Silly! Those kids are just shadows of your past, not the real ones. They can't see you or hear you or smell you!"**  
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Without a word, Rupin got up and went after the twins, his childhood friends. He completely forgot what he wanted to yell at Cucco for, taken by this vision of his past. The plucky girl danced after him, or rather, she flung herself from place to place. Princess Cucco's dancing was anything but graceful, but she didn't seem to notice, much less care. Every time her clumsy attempts at a pirouette would send her spinning out of control, she always managed to catch herself right before she fell flat on her bottom.

"So this is the past," Rupin said, surveying the hilly landscape as he crossed over the bridge. "Wow. Honestly, it doesn't look much different. I guess the grass is a little lighter?"

Skyloft really hadn't changed all that much in the past two decades. The lake, the bridge, the windmills, and all the houses in his village were all intact, and the Bazaar stood in the same place it had always been. He supposed some of the buildings and structures were less wind-worn, but not by much. They had a good handyman in town who maintained everything. They followed Shrike and Maggie all the way to his nook of the village. He failed to suppress a delighted gasp once his yard came into view.**  
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"The cemetery! It's gone. Or I guess it hasn't been built yet," he corrected himself. "I forgot how big this lot was without tombstones crammed into it, but at the same time, it doesn't seem quite so big as it felt back then." He watched the twins chase each other all over the empty lot with mixed emotions, nostalgia, but also long-dormant feelings of bitterness and resentment. "All the other kids always loved to play with me in my spacious backyard...that was the only reason they liked me. For my yard."

Shrike tackled Maggie violently to the ground. He mashed a rude hand over her his sister's face and pinned her down when she tried to throw him off.

"Come on, Rupin! Come play with us!" he squealed. "Girls are too easy to catch!"

Rupin stared at the dirty-haired boy in confusion a moment before another voice answered excitedly, "Okay! I'm almost done."_ That voice._

Rupin ran around the corner, stopping dead when he saw a little blond-haired boy not much older than Cucco sprawled on the soft grass in the shade if the house. The boy stooped over a sheet of paper, surrounded by an array of different-colored paint tubes.

"Aww. Wittle Wupin is soooo cute!" Cucco cooed. She was right. The young Rupin's pinkish face was chubby with youth, not yet chiseled and hardened by years of phony smiles and forced laughter. He studied his painting considerately with one hand pressed into his cheek, using the other to dab at the paper with a brush. Cucco hopped to him and leaned over his shoulder to take a closer at the picture that was forming. It was a painting of a bright green loftwing, soaring against a clear sky. Each of Rupin's tiny brushstrokes tapered into a separate feather amid the bird's vivid plumage.

"What a pretty bird!" Cucco exclaimed, clapping her hands. "You were so good at painting!"**  
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"Heh. For a six year old, I suppose," said Rupin. "I was quite the little artist." He swelled with pride, but then his brow creased and he looked away. "But...you can't do anything worthwhile with art alone. It's impractical."

Cucco looked up at him with a curious head tilt, and he wasn't so sure she'd understood. He rarely interacted with young children, so he wasn't used to simplifying his speech. He was caught off guard when she asked him, "Did your mommy tell you that?"

"Er, well—yes," Rupin admitted, a little indignantly. "But she was right...about that one thing. My mother always discouraged such trite pursuits. She always hoped I would be a well-off, prestigious knight, like my father was. She even paid my tuition in full my one failed year at the Knight Academy to try and make that happen." He exhaled. "Obviously, I wasn't able to live up to those expectations..."

Rupin trailed off with a distant look in his eyes, becoming lost in thought. It wasn't quite regret he felt, but more of a numb, dull hopelessness. Maybe he should have felt regret, but he just couldn't allow himself to, not when he'd brought this upon himself. He'd known all along that path wouldn't work out, because it was never the path he would have chosen for himself. He'd failed her, yes. But more than anyone, he'd failed himself. And now he would always be in her debt.**  
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"Wupin?"

"Nothing." He avoided Cucco's inquisitive gaze. "It's nothing."

He shifted his focus back to his younger incarnation, who had stood up. Young Rupin held up his picture to admire it in the sunlight, a small grin unfurling on his face. It was a true smile, one that reached his eyes and made them light up, at least until they pushed up into a natural squint. He took off and ran in the house. Rupin followed him without hesitation.

There was a small gathering in the kitchen. Rupin did a double take when he understood the woman at the head of the kitchen table to be his mother Goselle. She looked a good deal thinner, her hair a shade blonder, her wrinkles less prominent. She was currently chatting with a couple of men, who were pouring over some very official-looking documents.****  
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"I remember this," Rupin said. "This is when my mother sold our property to those grave diggers. Of course, I didn't realize what was going on back then."****  
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Young Rupin ran up to Goselle and prodded her arm. "Mother! Mother! Look at this picture I painted!"****  
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"That's nice, dear," Goselle muttered, not taking her eyes off the table.

Young Rupin pouted. "You didn't even look!"

"Rupin." She spun toward him, putting on a sickeningly sweet smile. "Mother is very busy right now. Why don't you go outside and show your drawing to your little friends?" Her tone thinly veiled her disgust toward his lower-class playmates.**  
><strong>

"But..." Rupin frowned, brokenhearted. " I wanted _you_ to be the first one to see it."

Goselle ignored him, directing her full attention back to the discussion at hand. Young Rupin sighed sadly and went out the door, taking his picture with him.

There was a third kid in the yard when they got back outside, some boy with messy brown hair and a missing tooth. Rupin didn't even remember his name; Shrike was always dragging over snotty friends of friends he had never seen in his life. Young Rupin approached the trio of children, hugging his sheet of paper to his chest.****  
><strong>**

"Hey, guys!" He turned his painting around, beaming. "Look at the pretty picture I made!"

Shrike took one look and rolled his eyes. He snorted, "who cares, Rupin."

"Yeah, Rupin, who cares," said the mystery boy.

Both boys glanced at Maggie.

"Y-yeah, who cares," she chimed in.

Young Rupin looked absolutely crestfallen. "Sorry..." he said quietly, letting the picture fall to his side. Rupin shadowed his younger self, wanting nothing more than to possess his younger self and give these kids a real piece of his mind.

"Gee, thanks for offering your opinions all at once, brats," he quipped, but of course, they couldn't hear him. "Why didn't I ever stand up for myself? Why is it that I never think of a good come back until twenty years later?! Ugh, if I only I knew then what I know now..." He threw a sidelong glance at Cucco, a little embarrassed to have engaged in such petty rantings in front of a child.

"Now put down that drawing and play with us! We need even teams. You can be with Maggie." Shrike threw his arm around his buddy of unknown name and 'claimed' him. They both grinned, oblivious to how their words had wounded Rupin.****  
><strong>**

An unsure smile worked its way across young Rupin's face, like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be happy or not. "Okay," he agreed. **  
><strong>

Rupin watched as he let his painting drift to the ground and left it behind, feeling some pity for his younger self. He almost immediately felt stupid for feeling so. "I suppose it's true, though. What they said. They were just being honest, like kids always are." He sighed in resignation. "Nobody really cares. And I don't care about them either."

Cucco tugged on his sleeve. "Come on," she whispered. "There are more shadows I need to show you."

Rupin's stomach churned at the thought of diving into the cloud barrier again, but to his relief, Cucco led him back inside his house instead. They passed by the kitchen table, where his mother was completing signing off on their property, and headed for Rupin's wardrobe. For the mirror.

"Hold on tight!" Cucco yelled, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the mirror. Reflexively, Rupin turned his head and closed his eyes, bracing for impact, but there was none. They dashed straight through the glass and into the very same room.

"Is there a reason we couldn't have used the mirror in my closet to begin with?" Rupin asked dryly. Cucco stifled another giggle. There was a sudden growl of discomfort from across the room, alerting Rupin that he and Cucco were not alone in this version of his house.

"_Oww!_ That hurts!" came his own prepubescent voice. Rupin turned to see his younger self at his mother's vanity. Goselle stood behind him, running a comb through his already neatly-parted hair. "It looks fine already!"

"I don't know what you're seeing, but all I see are knots, knots everywhere!"

It was evident they'd skipped ahead a few years in time; this new Rupin was a great deal taller than the previous incarnation, but still very much a child. Ten. He was exactly ten years old. Rupin knew because he remembered this day well. This was the day of his own Fledging, the day he met his loftwing.

"You better not do this in public," the young Rupin grumbled. He let out another pained grunt as his mother yanked his head sideways with the comb again.

"I wouldn't have to if you would cooperate!" Goselle snipped. "Hold still, will you?"

"Hold still?!" he echoed in disbelief. "How can I? I'm getting my loftwing today!" Despite his current state of misery, his eyes swam with excitement at the reminder. Not the kind of excitement when he spotted a customer or was handed a silver rupee, but a pure emotion, not clouded by greed or spite.

"Doesn't mean you can't look good doing it," said Goselle, working some gel into his hair. Young Rupin groaned in annoyance.

"Mother, we're going to be late for the ceremony! My loftwing's going to get there before I do!" he griped. "If you wanted to do this, you should have had a girl."**  
><strong>

"Well, I didn't exactly _choose_," she ripped the comb through his hair one more time, "to have you, Rupin."

The double meaning flew over the younger Rupin's head, but not the older Rupin's.

"Now for the last time, hold still so I don't stick you with this safety pin."

Goselle carefully lifted a round, flat green hat off the dresser. A braided cord wrapped around the hat and dangled off of it, ending in a dark gold feather—from her bird. She took the better part of a minute to attach the gaudy hat to his head.

"There we are!" She said in a sing-song voice when she was done. She smiled and patted his shoulders, catching his eye in the mirror. "Looking handsome."

Ten-year-old Rupin sulked, blowing the gold feather out of his face. "If by handsome you mean stupid."

"Rupin! That is no way to speak to your mother!" she put her hands on her hips, flying into a tizzy. "Honestly, after all I've done for you? You must be the most spoiled boy on this island. Do you even know how much that new vest cost? Humph! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Young Rupin shrunk a little and stared down at his feet, looking genuinely remorseful. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I'M sorry."

"_I'm _sorry," he repeated, a little too forcefully.

"Still not convinced." Goselle dusted off his shirt and pants—he scowled when she did the pants. "If you know what's good for you, you had better shape up and put on your happy face by the time we get to the courtyard. This is a very important day for me—er, you. For you."

But young Rupin didn't miss her slip up. He certainly wasn't stupid. "It's _always_ about you," he said. He shot her a steady glare through the mirror.

Rupin cringed, surprised his younger self had the audacity to speak his mind so brashly. He half-expected his mother to give him a royal chewing out for that, but she didn't. She remained silent, only acknowledging young Rupin's comment with a slight hardening of her features. There was only time Goselle would shut her mouth. When she knew he was right.

Young Rupin tore away from his fussy mother the first chance he got and bolted outside. He had already made it to the bridge to town by the time Goselle got out the front door. Rupin and Princess Cucco had to run to keep up with him. After he crossed the stream, young Rupin slowed up and looked over his shoulder worriedly, not so sure his decision to leave mom in the dust was a good one. It was amazing, Rupin thought, how much he'd changed in a few short years. The Rupin of the previous time had been so bright eyed and eager to please. This Rupin appeared much more inhibited.

Goselle caught up with young Rupin in a few minutes, short of breath. She scolded him again for running ahead of her and messing up his hair before they continued on their trek. Rupin and Cucco followed his tiny dysfunctional family all the way to the Isle of the Goddess. The courtyard was over-crowded when they got there; Goselle had to shove though hoards of people to get Rupin to the statue, though this didn't prove to be an especially difficult feat for her.

Before the start of the ceremony, children were peeling off from their parents in the crowd and going to stand in an arc before the Statue of the Goddess, as was tradition. Though their parents would be looking on proudly from afar, the children would come before the Goddess and await the arrival of their loftwings alone. This was a coming of age event, after all.

"Now don't be nervous, dear, and don't forget to SMILE!" Goselle planted a sloppy kiss on young Rupin's forehead, which he quite clearly did not enjoy. But he forced a grin anyway and joined the other kids as they took their places before the statue. There was a good many this year, at least ten of them. Skimming the faces up front, Rupin recognized a number of them. Shrike and Maggie were on the opposite side of the line, by this time no longer his friends, he was sure. He spotted Quill, a rescue knight, and Chat, a short girl with platinum hair he used to have a crush on. It took him a moment to realize the tanned-skinned boy beside his younger self was Gondo. With his smooth, beardless face and the absence of the safety goggles that normally obscured his eyes, this kid was barely recognizable as the charismatic scrap shop owner of the present.

At the end of the line, on young Rupin's other side, a tall, gangly youth ambled up to the Statue of the Goddess awkwardly. The young teen loomed over all the shorter ten-year-olds, drawing the attention of many pairs of eyes. He was extremely skinny, the peeling, sun-scorched skin of his bare chest stretched tight over protruding rib bones. Though his eyes were hidden under a mop of messy brown hair, it wasn't hard to tell he was ashamed to be among all these little kids. He carried himself stiffly with his shoulders hunched, trying and failing to look inconspicuous.

"Beedle," Rupin said under his breath. "I had forgotten he was there. As usual, no shirt or shoes to speak of."

Beedle went rigid. For an instant, Rupin thought he had heard him, but then he noticed the chorus of whispers hissing around him.

_"Look, he showed up! The earth-bound boy."_

_"Do you think this will finally be his year?"_

_"Guess we'll find out soon enough."_

Soon, the sun approached the zenith of the sky and Headmaster Gaepora stepped before the audience, clad in ceremonial robes. In this time, he was blond, but just as bald. Rupin and Cucco took a seat in the grass as he hushed the crowd with one outstretched hand.

"People of the Sky, it is my most esteemed honor as Keeper of Skyloft's Lore and Master of Ceremonies to present to you this year's Fledging Ceremony," he began.

Gaepora gave a short speech about the holiday and led a prayer, and then the ceremony commenced. For a while, nothing happened. The people in the courtyard waited with bated breath, all gazes turned skyward. It was quiet, aside from the frequent coughing, sniffing, and fidgeting going on. The kids were quite clearly getting tired of standing, shifting their weight from leg to leg as they scanned the sky with hopeful eyes. Just watching. Waiting. This was even more boring than watching the Wing Ceremony. Rupin could practically feel the energy draining from the air as the minutes slogged by.

About fifteen minutes into the ceremony, a flat shape appeared on the horizon. Several of the children wriggled with nervous anticipation, but they remained where they were. It was of the utmost importance that they wait for the birds come to them.

The first bird, a female with light yellow feathers the color of sun's rays filtering through the clouds, alighted a short distance away and folded up her wings. She was small and slight; a juvenile, as were all loftwings who paired with Hylian children and would grow and learn alongside their riders. She wasn't much bigger than Cucco in loftwing form. She strode down the line one careful step at a time, considering each child with one fierce, blue-rimmed eye. No one in the crowd dared to move or utter a single word, not wanting to disrupt the bonding ritual.

After some time, the loftwing paused before Chat. At first she looked shocked, like she thought the bird made a mistake. But then when the bird perked up and displayed a keen interest in her, she overflowed with elation. She raised a trembling hand in the air. After several seconds, the yellow loftwing closed the distance between them and touched its bill to her palm. A respectful applause resounded in the courtyard.

Some said the color of a loftwing's plumage was significant and mirrored their chosen rider's personality, but Rupin was skeptical. Soon, and a second bird appeared, this one a silver-gray. A few cheers rose from a group of knights when the loftwing chose Quill after some deliberation. It was rumored that silver loftwings often chose riders who were destined to become knights. Before the excitement died down, yet another bird glided in. The reddish-brown bird went straight to Gondo.

As the ceremony wore one, more loftwings flew in one by one and chose a rider. Some birds hung around and sat beside their human companions, feet tucked beneath their feathery torsos. Others lost interest and flew off, but they didn't stray far. It was difficult for the remaining kids not to look at least a little disappointed each time another loftwing arrived and turned out to be somebody else's partner, but young Rupin managed to plaster on another smile whenever he spotted his mother scowling at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't suppose we could skip ahead a few hours?" Rupin asked Cucco a bored tone. He yawned.

"Mmmm?" Cucco cocked her head to the side and placed one finger on her cheek, scrunching up her dainty features in a comical fashion. "Nope! Don't think so."

Rupin just sighed, laying his head down. _Oh_ _well_. He could use a nap.

-:-:-:-:-

Hours later, Cucco shook him awake. It was evident from a quick pan of the crowd that some people had sneaked out over the time that had passed. Rupin remembered thinking the thinned crowd disheartening at the time. Now he didn't blame them.

Several gasps and fingers pointed toward the sky signified that something was finally happening. A single loftwing was approaching the statue courtyard, flying low. One loftwing, and two children left.

The skinny young loftwing touched down a safe distance from the crowd. Upon landing, she ruffled and smoothed her lime green feathers, which were lighter than Rupin remembered. This bird was very, very late to the occasion, but didn't seem to give a flying feather. Her steady gaze briefly panned the crowd, as if daring anybody to complain about her timeliness. Her bright yellow irises sharply contrasted the rings of dark blue and purple around her eyes, giving her the appearance of wearing a mask.

Beedle had nearly jumped out of his skin when this loftwing landed quite near him, daring to dream this could be his fated companion. It was clear he had trained himself not to get his hopes up when new birds arrived, but at this point, even he couldn't help but look eager. The new green loftwing was tense; it took her an entire minute to move a few yards. Sometimes she would just stand still as a statue, not moving an inch. She held her head close to her body, a sign of nervousness.

Eventually, she drew close to Beedle. She eyed him indirectly, regarding the bare-chested teen with a faint air of disgust. Rupin knew; he had grown all too accustomed to reading his bird's body language. She fluffed her feathers again and moved on past Beedle without a spare glance. If a loftwing was capable of snubbing, that was it. Beedle's expression was unreadable beneath his choppy hair.

The next and only other remaining child at the statue was young Rupin. A change came over the loftwing's demeanor as she approached him. She tilted her head and craned her neck to get a better look at this boy in the tacky green hat, and Rupin thought he saw a glimmer of curiosity in those ruthless eyes of hers. But she was still very hesitant. Young Rupin was positively ecstatic, and it showed. He struggled to hold still as she inched closer to him. Rupin had to wince. He already knew how this would play out.

Young Rupin just couldn't hold back any longer. "WINGY!" he burst out. He lurched toward her to pet her bill, just like all the other kids had with their loftwings.

The next second, an ear-splitting wail pierced the air, and the green loftwing's bill was clamped around young Rupin's hand. The other children shrieked. Adults flew into a panic and rushed to his aid, his mother among them. Rupin cringed away from the sight. He gave Cucco a withering look.

"Was it really necessary to make me relive that?" he asked. "It's not like I forgot."

"Look!" Cucco exclaimed. She pointed past him. Rupin followed her finger and saw the scrawny teenaged Beedle running from the courtyard tears, something he had not noticed the first time around. He disappeared behind the statue. Cucco jumped up and pursued him. Rupin followed, all to glad to escape the pandemonium.

They found him curled into a ball at the back of the statue, arms wrapped tightly around himself as he wept. He hiccuped softly into his knees, his whole body wracking with each of his sobs. _Pathetic, _Rupin thought, looking down on him. It was a pitiful sight.

"Wupin." Cucco tilted her head, in a manner Rupin thought now was very bird-like. "How come some people don't get loftwings?"

"I don't know. I was hoping you would tell me," he grunted. "Aren't you the all-knowing spirit who's supposed to explain everything?"

"Nuh uh. I'm just a little kid!"

"You are clearly not just a little kid."

Cucco smiled in her mischievous way. Why did he get the feeling she knew more than she let on? The petite ballerina pointed her toes and threw her arms out behind her, which seamlessly morph into midnight and white wings, an unsettling combination of half-bird, half girl.**  
><strong>

"Let's go," she said, flapping her wings in rhythm. "There's one more shadow you need to see."

Rupin took one parting look at the broken Beedle, and by the time he looked back to Princess Cucco, she had completed the transformation from girl to loftwing. Rupin wrapped his hands around her ankles for extra security as she hooked his arms with her talons and they took to the air, flying over the heads of dozens of people who couldn't see them. He tried to pick himself out below, but he couldn't see past the crowd. Younger Rupin was currently being swarmed by paramedics.

Cucco carried him over the Bazaar and all the way back to the lake on the far side of Skyloft, which sparkled in the light of the setting sun. The clear water was a giant mirror, reflecting the rushing waterfall and the sunset-stricken sky above. Beyond it lied a whole other world. Rupin swallowed, surmising her intentions.

"...Um, Cuc—"

She slackened her grip and he plunged into the lake before he could draw breath. But he heard no splash, nor did water fill his mouth and nose as he expected. Loftwing Cucco—previously, her reflection—caught him by the feet on the other side and carried him upside-down to the shore, dropping him on the sandy bank.

It was the same time of day in this new Skyloft, the sun sinking toward the cloud barrier amidst a hazy twilit sky. It appeared much the same as the last, at least at a glance, but a more observant eye might notice tiny changes over time. Cucco's feathers peeled away and blew off like flower petals scattering on the wind, and in two blinks of an eye, the girl re-emerged. Rupin rose to his feet with a groan.

"So where did you bring me now?" He picked up his hat, which had fallen on the ground, and placed it back on his head. "Don't tell me this is the day I was mauled by a remlit."

Cucco guided him back to his house. Rupin's chest tightened when he caught sight of an eleven-year-old Rupin, sitting by himself beneath the crooked tree at the back of the graveyard.**  
><strong>

"Oh no," he said quietly. "Not this."

Beyond the graveyard, the other children were swooping across the sky on their loftwings, hooting and hollering at each other joyously. All except poor, neglected Rupin. Slumped against the gnarled, twisted trunk, he stared dismally down at his feet, sniffling every so often. His eyes were red and puffy.

There was a sudden rustling from the bushes behind the tree. The young Rupin gave a start and jumped to his feet, backing away from the tree in alarm. A slight man with thick, red hair like a fox's coat stepped out from behind the twisted trunk, grinning broadly. The man wore a lavish purple cloak with golden trim, and when he came fully into view, revealed a gigantic backpack that looked large enough to hold two more of him inside. His bag was hung with all sorts of colorful masks—ornate, whimsical and grotesque—that swayed and clocked against one another as the man moved.

Unnerved, boy Rupin started to make a break for his house.

"Wait!" shouted the red-haired man.

The man's voice, high and hollow as it was, compelled young Rupin to freeze where he was. He studied the man with wary eyes, clenching his hands at his sides. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." He tried to speak firmly, but his voice wavered. Eyes locked on the man, he inched back toward his house, looking ready to sprint at any moment.

The man chuckled in light amusement. "Stranger? Is that what I am, now? Hohoho. Then allow me to properly introduced myself." He gave a low bow, and it was a feat his pack didn't tumble over his head and crush him.

"I am the Happy Mask Salesman, " he said. "I travel far and wide in search of masks."

A suspicious crease appeared between young Rupin's eyebrows.

"Tell me, boy, what is troubling you on this fine day?"

The man folded one arm under the other, placing a ponderous hand on his chin. His words were light and lilting, almost phantom-like in the way they lingered. Every word lingered. Young Rupin bit his lip; he seemed to fight with himself a few moments, then for whatever reason decided turning his back on this guy was the less desirable option.

"It's my loftwing," he admitted. The Happy Mask Salesman gazed at him thoughtfully. He hadn't stopped smiling once. Young Rupin avoided his narrow eyes, instead opting to stare at the ground.

"She hates me. She flies away every time I try to get near her. All the other kids won't stop making fun of me and calling me mean names. They...they weren't really my friends at all." His eyes started to water, but he angrily drew a fist across his cheek and sucked it up. "I _hate_ them," he spat, eyes blazing. "I'll never forgive them!"

The anger suddenly evaporated from his face and he glanced at the mask salesman fearfully, as if expecting the adult to reprove of his heated outburst. But the man just continued to smile. In fact, he looked completely unconcerned.

"Look up," he commanded.

"Mm?" Young Rupin screwed up his face in confusion.

"Look up."

Rupin lifted his head with reluctance, as if he was still afraid to take his eyes off the Mask Salesman. He inhaled sharply when he saw what it was the man wanted him to seem, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise.**  
><strong>

There, hanging off the edge of the roof, was a tuft of lime green feathers. His loftwing was sitting on top of the house. One yellow eye peered down at him, watchful, but unwavering.**  
><strong>

"See? She's been watching over you this whole time," said the Salesman. "You said she hates you, but I don't believe that's true. I think maybe, she only needs a little more time." His toothy grin grew ever wider. "Just have faith."

Young Rupin sobbed, letting the tears flow freely now. Rupin's throat closed up. He tried not to do the same as he watched this scene unfold, feeling as though some clumsily-patched hole in his chest had been ripped open again. With a wistful way about him, the Happy Mask Salesman inclined his head toward the heavens and started to leave, not by any path, but toward the edge of the Skyloft. He halted in his tracks.**  
><strong>

"Ah! I nearly forgot." He turned halfway around. "You lost something."

The Mask Salesman stared at young Rupin, expectant. Young Rupin sniffled and wiped his tears, giving him a questioning look. He checked both of his pockets and skimmed the graveyard, checking the base of the tree and over each of his shoulders. When he turned up with nothing, he looked to the salesman again, puzzled.**  
><strong>

In silence, the Mask Salesman lifted his backpack off his shoulders and bent down, going to open one of the side pockets. The young Rupin watched his hands with curiosity as he removed a flat, wooden object from the pack. The man slowly came forward and held it out to him.

"Your smile," he said pleasantly.

Young Rupin took the mask in shaking hands. "But this..." he shuddered, "this is..._my_ face."

It was true. The mask was the mirror image of his face, same dark-blond hair, same small flat nose, same rosy cheeks. Only it was _smiling. _It smiled so broadly one could count all its teeth, its eyes pinched into a pronounced squint.

"So it is." The salesman secured his pack on his back. Young Rupin was quickly turning pale. "Now, I am afraid must bid you farewell. A traveling salesman never stays in one place for long, and it is time I moved on..."

He took a step backward. Young Rupin realized his intentions the second before it happened; Rupin could practically see the boy's heart stop.

"W-wait!" He lunged forward, one hand outstretched. _"Don't...!"_

The Happy Mask Salesman spread his arms and fell backwards off the edge of Skyloft, letting the weight of his bag drag him straight down. Rupin dove to the edge and stared down into the depths of the cloud barrier alongside younger self, but just like then, there was no trace of the man. It was as if he disappeared into thin air.**  
><strong>

Young Rupin backed away from the edge, all traces of color had vanished from his face. For a long moment, he stared down at the mask in his hands, looking thoroughly traumatized. He glanced all around, eyes wide, then he clutched the mask close to his chest and fled inside the house.

"That mask," Rupin murmured the front door slammed. "I...I wanted to throw it out. I thought about throwing it into the clouds, but I had a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like something bad would happen if I did. So instead I shoved it in my closet, in the very back where I wouldn't see it."

Cucoo peered up at him, inquisitive. He expelled an anxious breath.

"A few years later, I worked up the courage to look for it again, but it was gone. I asked my mother if she'd gone through my closet and thrown it out, but she had no idea what I was talking about..."

Cucco blinked. "I wonder where it went?"

A chill ran up Rupin's spine, a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. She'd uttered the question innocently enough, but it struck him as ominous. He wasn't sure he wanted to try answering it.

"Hey Wupin." Cucco stared at him intently. "Do you think that funny man who came to see you was a real spirit?"

"A real spirit," he echoed. "Then what does that make you? ...Cucco? Cucco, what's happening to you?!"

Cucco's image was fading. For the first time, she truly looked like a ghost. He could see his house, the yellowing grass, and the tombstones right through her.

"Looks like it's almost time for me to go," she said, sounding far away. Rupin realized it wasn't just her that was fading, but the entirety of past Skyloft as well. White light was closing in from every direction, absorbing the edges of the island into nothingness. He faced her, not quite knowing what to say. He wasn't particularly fond of his past. In his short time with her, the girl spirit hadn't done much other than dredge up old demons, bitter memories, and unanswered questions. Yet at the same time, he found her earnest naivety and angelic presence...comforting, in a way. Her light stirred within him something deep and long buried, some forgotten fragment of himself he didn't want to let go of.

Cucco chuckled, apparently understanding well enough. "Don't worry! I'm not leaving forever." She reached up and undid her hair tie, letting down short hair. It floated around her as if suspended in water. She rose up so that she was eye level with him pressed the white feather into his hand. "I'll be with you...so long as you remember me..."

Cucco detached from him and began to drift upwards into the heavens. With her last words, the light engulfed everything, and then turned to black — at first, the curtain of black behind his eyelids, and then the darkness of his own home as he fluttered awake.

He gradually sat up to find himself lying on the floor before the fireplace, at the last spot he remembered cleaning. Instead of Cucco's hair tie, he clutched a stiff wash cloth in his hand. The cloth had almost completely dried out. _Then_…_was it all a dream? _Everything—the spirit, falling through the cloud barrier, even the scratching noise coming from the wardrobe?

It took him a few seconds to realize there were tears staining he corners of his eyes, but he couldn't remember why or what caused such an outpouring of emotion. He wiped them away in embarrassment, even though there was no one to see. Bits and pieces of the vivid dream were already fading fast, but other images stuck in his mind in brilliant clarity. Cucco's black and white wings…Beedle cowering behind the Goddess Statue…his mother's disappointed expression.

Most disturbing of all was the vision of the mask man plummeting backwards off a cliff, dragged down by the weight of his hulking backpack. His perpetual smile still lurked on the edge of Rupin's consciousness as he sopped up the rest of the soot and retired to his bed. That part of the dream did not sit right at all. It had an uncanny sense of familiarity about it. He had been in that place before, he just knew it. But the experience couldn't have possibly happened; he'd gone back and forth and come to that conclusion long ago. That mask couldn't have escaped the wardrobe on its own. So why did that dream feel so real?**  
><strong>

The whole thing must have been a very old dream of his, resurfacing from some by-gone era of his life. It wouldn't have been the first time he had mistaken dreams for reality in his younger days. He had so many nightmares about black tornadoes that he'd had to ask his mother if there actually had been one in Skyloft in his lifetime. There hadn't.

Yes, it must have been just another reoccurring dream. Head spinning with more thoughts and questions than his exhausted mind could handle, Rupin collapsed on his bed and quickly sunk into a deep sleep.


End file.
